


Getting Down in Chinatown

by Thyra279



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley.exe has stopped working, Feral Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), this accidentally turned into a post-lockdown fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyra279/pseuds/Thyra279
Summary: So he hung there, Aziraphale looking down at him in embarrassingly open adoration. Somewhere a few dimensions away, he sensed that a bunch of tourists had stopped to stare. Crowley felt like all the stupid Peking ducks hanging in the windows around them might be staring.Stupid peeking Peking ducks, mocking him when all his defenses were down. Stupid bastard angel."'Ssssss not fair, Angel. Not playing fair." It came out all mumbled, with his jaw pressed shut against Aziraphale's hand. The bastard kissed the top of his head instead of responding. Crowley puffed as ferociously as possible against the tingle making its way down the back of his head, down his spine."What are you going to do about it, dear?""'m gonna kiss you. Gonna kiss the fuck out of you," he growled....If you're looking for a deep, meaningful Pulitzer Prize-candidate fic, this is not that. If you're looking for ridiculous demon...Crowley wakes up halfway through July to find that a certain angel is Very Keen for him to be awake again. They go for dinner and a nice stroll on the way back to the bookshop.It turns into a very nice stroll. Like, a really nice stroll.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 225
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	Getting Down in Chinatown

It was odd to be around so many people again. He'd woken up in mid-July to find a world gone more-or-less back to normal as well as 327 voicemails and fourteen hand-written letters urging him in increasingly irate but unfailingly polite tones to wake up and come out for a stroll and a bite to eat now that quarantine restrictions had been lifted.

Quarantine restrictions, truth be told, were not at all what the demon Crowley was thinking about as he pulled up in front of the bookshop in the Bentley for the first time in _months_. Or on his mind while he walked up to the door he usually bashed through and hesitated. Or while he knocked, oddly nervous and waited for the angel to answer the door.

Quarantine was also not what he was thinking about while they sat at the Ritz and chatted about delightful nothings and enjoyed the first proper meal either of them had had since early March. Aziraphale wouldn't stop smiling at him, that secret little smile that was _theirs_ and Crowley felt sweatier than he had for the past, oh, 6000 years.

The whole lockdown affair was the furthest thing from his mind when Aziraphale got up _before_ desert, declared that he had already paid the bill because he'd really rather like for Crowley to accompany him back to the bookshop so that he could show the demon the stamps he'd started collecting during lockdown. And Crowley was going to have a massive laugh about that being the oldest trick in the book, but then he looked at the angel. And Aziraphale's cheeks were all flushed and he seemed distinctly _hungry_ despite his insistence that he didn't need dessert and Crowley thought that maybe that joke wasn't so funny after all. Maybe.

They walked, strolled through all the dirty, deserted side streets and meandered leisurely back towards Soho, enjoying the evening sun and the only-slightly-garbagey undertones of the city's warm summer breeze.

Then right there, outside of Hamleys toystore, Aziraphale grabbed his arm, just by that massive toy giraffe. And quarantine was so far from what Crowley was thinking about that the Kazakhstani Khara-Zhorgha dance and Hastur vacuuming naked were probably higher up the list.

They reached the gates at Chinatown and Aziraphale's hand was still definitely hooked into Crowley's arm. Crowley was sure of it; he kept looking down to check, but it really was there. And he tried to listen to whatever Aziraphale was babbling on about, he really did, but it was very difficult when those perfectly manicured fingers were _right there_ , prancing about in the ticklish nook of his elbow.

He shot a sly glance down to check again, very underhanded and smooth, and Aziraphale stopped.

"I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to impose myself on you."

"What?"

"You keep glancing down. I can remove it if you want."

"Nnnyeah. Naah." Aziraphale looked at him, searched for his eyes, Crowley knew, through the sunglasses. He wished he could pull off ones that covered his eyebrows too, maybe his mouth and chin as well, because Crowley was pretty sure his entire traitorous face gave away how terrible a fucking tragedy he thought that would be.

"It's just… it feels very natural to me. To keep it there. After all these years." They both looked down on the offending hand. It seemed to hang a little awkwardly now, pale and sad and uncertain against Crowley's black leather jacket.

It shouldn't look like that; Aziraphale's hands should always flutter with life, brim with excitement at every possible little sensation or idea. As they both watched, Crowley's elbow seemed to take on a mind of its own. It squeezed the angelic hand into Crowley's ribs in what Crowley vaguely thought might be some weird attempt at a Heimlich. But hey, it worked: The hand fluttered back to life, seemed to press itself against his ribcage. Which was fine. Crowley was a cool and smooth agent of Hell. He could deal with that. It was fine. He stopped his heart so The Hand wouldn't feel it bouncing wildly off his ribcage.

"'s fine, Angel, keep it there. It's fine. If you like. 's fine." He thought he sounded terrifically nonchalant, considering the amount of pressure he found himself under.

"Right."

The hand looked very nice there, really.

"Crowley?"

Seemed to be going whiter and whiter, though.

"Crowley, dear?"

He wondered what it would feel like to reach out to it with his other hand, cup a bit of a feel. See if the pads of its fingertips were really as soft as they seemed to be. The hand relaxed against his elbow. Went limp. If there were any cuticles at all along the edges of those well-kept nails. How the little white hairs at the top of the fingers would feel.

Then _another_ hand came up to rest against his chest. This one had a ring on it. He'd always wondered if the skin under there would be all smooth and shiny.

"Crowley, my dear. Hello?" Crowley blinked. Aziraphale was close, too close for comfort really. The ring hand was still on his chest. His heart had started pumping again in open rebellion. Quite violently. Maybe Aziraphale had miracled… maybe… mmmm.

The hand patted his chest. Warm greyish eyes caught his own. They shone like the sun, little crinkles all around them.

"There you are. It, uhm. It would appear my hand has fallen asleep." Crowley blinked at him again, for good measure. The other angelic hand still rested against the thin cotton fabric on Crowley's chest. It curled up a little apologetically and pointed at its limp colleague.

"I think you may have cut off its blood flow," the angel added, giving a weak little half-wave with the offending hand. It was getting an odd blue tinge.

"Mnyeah."

"Perhaps you could ease the, uhm. The hold. Just a little?"

Crowley pouted, looking down at the offending elbow. It was all he could do, really.

"Crowley?"

"Don't let go, Angel." Now Aziraphale blinked at him. He looked all soft and silly. The loser. Although he still sounded far too calm for this situation, which Crowley wasn't sure he liked.

"I won't dear." His voice was sickly sweet, ridiculously indulgent, like he was bathing Crowley in one of the angel's two-and-a-half-teaspoons-cocoa-to-three-and-a-quarter-teaspoons-of-sugar-and-full-fat-milk-boiled-to-93-degrees-exactly hot chocolates. Crowley hated it. Hated it. The bastard. He'd cringe if he wasn't so wobbly.

"Promise."

"I promise." It took a few goes, but Crowley finally managed to relax his arm just a little. Shockingly, traitorously, the angel's wrist slid back, soft, pale skin slipping out between the black leather of his sleeve and chest. He managed half a strangled cry of consternation before the hand gripped his elbow instead.

"Oh. That's alright then," he blinked, sunglasses sliding halfway down his face as he attempted to fasten the hand to his elbow by staring at it. He pulled them off the rest of the way to survey the situation better and let them fall to the ground.[1]

That other hand disappeared from his chest, but that was also okay, because now it came to rest against his jaw instead. Crowley took this development in his stride. It was very warm, the hand, even the ring, though probably nothing against the temperature of his skin. Perhaps he should ask Aziraphale if he was on fire. But then there'd be sizzzzling, wouldn't there, on his cheek, ssome sssssmoke and sizzzzzzzzzling sure…ly.

Crowley had never been big on human anatomy, but he was fairly certain that brains weren't supposed to turn to mush. So why had his brain turned to mush. Stupid faulty wiring, like his ragdoll legs.

"Mmwhat are you doing, Angel?"

Aziraphale moved from his jaw to his chin, tipped him down towards him. Crowley's head dipped traitorously willingly. Terribly undignified for a demon of his stature. He hoped it would never end. Aziraphale tilted his own head to the side, took him in. There was a little line between his eyebrows that only appeared when he was trying to look all serious and dignified. Crowley wanted to prod it, see if the crease was really as soft as it looked. Or possibly headbutt it. Take _him_ by surprise, eh. Get one over on the bastard.

"What do you think I'm doing, Crowley?" The angel's voice was deep and low and he was very close now, terribly close, all tiny bastard eyelashes and warm, fluttery breaths against Crowley's face. It was terribly unfair, taking advantage of Crowley like this right in the middle of bloody Chinatown.

"I think you're being a right bastard, Angel."

"Oh." Aziraphale tutted, and there was definitely some cheeky bloody mirth sneaking into his lovely bastard eyes now. "I rather presumed you might've thought I was about to kiss you."

Crowley came about to find that his ragdoll legs had collapsed. He found himself held up by the strong grip around his arm. The angel's still held up his chin, too, and now he was looking up at the soft roll of Aziraphale's jaw. Nothing Crowley could do about it, he'd apparently lost all communication channels he'd ever had to his lanky, ridiculous, two-faced corporation.

So he hung there, Aziraphale looking down at him in embarrassingly open adoration. Somewhere a few dimensions away, he sensed that a bunch of tourists had stopped to stare. Crowley felt like all the stupid Peking ducks hanging in the windows around them might be staring. Stupid peeking Peking ducks, mocking him when all his defenses were down. Stupid bastard angel.

"'Ssssss not fair, Angel. Not playing fair." It came out all mumbled, with his jaw pressed shut against Aziraphale's hand. The bastard kissed the top of his head instead of responding, and Crowley puffed as ferociously as possible against the tingle making its way down the back of his head, down his spine.

"What are you going to do about it, dear?"

"'m gonna kiss you. Gonna kiss the fuck out of you," he growled.

Aziraphale hummed in approval, warm breath on his scalp and tingles all over again. He could see the vibrations in the angel's throat, all soft and teasing. Wanted to bite at them, catch the rumbles in his mouth. Suck them away, feel them on his tong-

"Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Lift me up so I can kiss the fuck out of you." Aziraphale looked at him instead, took in every bit of his face. Then the sparkle in his eyes flashed, turned pointy and dangerous.

Without warning, Crowley found himself pushed three steps back, into a doorway between two restaurants, up against a cold brick wall. A pinboard poked into Crowley's back and there might be chewing gum in his hair.

More importantly, Aziraphale pulled him up by his lapel so that Crowley was the same height as the angel again.

Finally, some fucking dignity.

The angel's pointy little nose stared down his own, Crowley could see every pore. His eyes looked hard, hungry; his stuttered breath tickled the hairs on Crowley's upper lip. Fuck.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

"Go on, then."

The angel didn't even have the decency to flutter his eyes shut, as he had in most of the thousands of versions of this moment that Crowley had fantasised about.[2]

To his immense embarrassment, Crowley found himself a tiny bit hesitant. He looked around, took in the faint smell of urine and the suspicious scuttling in the garbage bag behind Aziraphale.

"Nngk."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. His hands were still on his lapel, arms pressed into his chest, elbows burrowing into him.

"Erh. Right here?" He nodded at the definitely-moving bag behind Aziraphale. Aziraphale made no attempt at turning around. In fact, he was staring straight at Crowley's lips. _Oh lordy_.

"It's just-" Crowley cringed at the high squeak that came out. Having cleared his throat, he had another go, overcompensating and going somewhere so deep it would've impressed at the London Opera. "It's just. _Ahem_. It's just… when I imagined it-"

Aziraphale's eyes flicked up to his. "You've imagined it?"

Crowley managed to throw out a few satisfactorily noncommittal puffs of air. His very convincing nonchalance was immediately destroyed by the whine that escaped from somewhere deep inside him when Aziraphale lifted his weight off him slightly.

"Of course. _'Course_ I've imagined it, you moron." The soft, secret smile which erupted on the angel's face sent his brain fluttering again. His body seemed to be coming back to him, though. Probably a good thing.

He realised he could move his hands, brought one up to caress Aziraphale's face. Settled on pinching his earlobe for some reason, disaster that he was. But then, Aziraphale's lovely eyes were going all shiny and his entire face fell open which… which. _Gosh_ , it was a very soft earlobe. Very nice earlobe… Very nice…

"Wannit to be _nice_ , Angel," he confessed. Aziraphale looked like he might take a bite of him, like he might be the one to be losing it just a little bit now. His voice came out all low and raspy, and it did all manner of unspeakable things to Crowley's resolve as well as several body parts he wasn't usually very aware of.

"Hmm. I thought you didn't like _nice_." The voice stayed low and raspy, and Aziraphale's mouth came closer, and Crowley had to wiggle his hips a little to get a handle on everything downtown.

"Nyeah I don't."

The angel swallowed, smacked his lips together. He was flushed. Definitely flushed. Crowley had forgotten the angel could do that. Forgotten what it did to him.

"So are you quite sure you don't want it just a little rough?" Crowley felt himself blush now too, felt a surprising sense of frustration at both himself and the angel seep in in time with it.

"Nnngrrrrh no." Aziraphale pushed himself back a little, let him down on the ground, where Crowley discovered to his great relief that he could stand on his own and to his great chagrin that the angel wasn't touching him at all anymore. His face was a little furrowed, which wouldn't do at all.

"What _do_ you want, then, Crowley?"

" _Eurgh_. Fine, make me say it, Angel." He squeezed his eyes together in shame so hard that little patches of colour danced around in there. Banged the back of his head against the wall for good measure. "Iwantittoberomantic."

"Hmm?"

"Nnnnrrrgk _Angel_. I want it to. Be. Romantic."

" _Oh_." Oh, there was that voice, that special thank-you voice that crept right through his ears and into his brain. Crowley gave his head a shake.

"And- and preferably to not smell of piss."

"Oh." He opened his eyes again to find Aziraphale looking around them, a little dazed. "I… I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah. Come on, Angel, let's get you home." Crowley held out his hand and Aziraphale grabbed it, a little absentminded on behalf of having definitely noticed the suspicious garbage bag now. Might even be overthinking the situation already, wouldn't put it past him. Crowley took advantage of his inattention to twine their fingers together. His elbow felt a little jealous, but it would just have to deal with it. He ignored the furious blushing of his face and led the way out of the really very unpleasant doorway, tugging Aziraphale after him.

"I promise you, Angel, I will find you somewhere ni- good for- for this," he hissed, dragging Aziraphale alongside him until he finally caught up, his steps a little shorter than Crowley's. He didn't respond, though his hand remained solidly in Crowley's own. Not that he had much choice in the matter.

The sea of tourists parted in front of them like nothing as they made their way down toward the gate at the other end of Chinatown.

"Somewhere memorable." His eyes flew about, taking in the scene as they flew past a shop with what seemed like millions of little gold cats in the window. Their moving paws seemed to be cheering him on.

"Somewhere you can look at every time you come by and smile," he added, eyes settling in front of him.

Aziraphale let himself be dragged to the end of Chinatown. Then let himself be stopped with a firm pull at his hand. Then let himself be crowded backwards, into the colourful steel gate marking the entrance to Chinatown.

"Somewhere," Crowley mumbled against the angel's lovely face, "like this," and pushed his hips forcefully against the angel's. Aziraphale gasped, wonderfully, and pushed back.

Then he tilted his head back a little without needing any direction at all (the genius) and sent those eye sparkles deep into Crowley's soul.

And Crowley kissed him. Easiest thing in the world, as it turned out.

And Aziraphale kissed him back.

And fireworks went off.[3]

With great difficulty, Crowley leant back a little. "Didn't mean to do that."

Aziraphale sighed against him, and wasn't _that_ a sensation to write down in all those history books. "I think that was me, dear."

"Ah."

Aziraphale's lovely hand sneaked down to his arse, gripping him tight. Well. What was a pathetic demon to do other than kiss him again.

The angel's mouth opened a little and it was weird and wet and warm and nice. Very nice.[4] Aziraphale sighed again when the tips of their tongues met, met again, brushed against each other.

" _Mmmmngh._ "

More fireworks went off. There was wet little smack from their lips when Aziraphale pulled back.

"Terribly sorry."

"S'fine, Angel." He breathed against Aziraphale's lips. They were all warm and slippery against his own. "S'a compliment, really."

"Bit romantic, perhaps."

"Nyeah."

Aziraphale's other hand, the one with the ring, snaked up to his chest again. His fingers played with the buttons of Crowley's shirt. His eyes twinkled. "Romantic enough for you, demon?"

"Nggrn." The fingers on his arse trailed upwards, up to toy with the hem of his belt.

"Quite nice, this, isn't it?"

"Hnf." Aziraphale's eyes flitted around for a moment. Then they got all serious and sharp again, focused on his own, hard and relentless like granite, beautiful, wonderful granite, all bastard, wonderful bastardly bastard. Crowley'd seen the look before, but never quite like this and _oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh oh god._

The angelic fingertips teased their way under his belt and inside his jeans, on to his raw, sensitive, humanlike skin by his hip and, _well_ , ffffuck, fuck him if he didn't fucking squirm. And the angel rumbled, soft and deep in that lovely, soft throat again.

The fingers gripped his jeans, tugged him up by the belt and _ngggnh_ Aziraphale sharpened, other nails against his chest, sharp teeth and- and low pointed breathing up against his chin. Crowley gripped onto strong, warm arms that he knew so so well, but from a distance, not like thissss.

"You know dear, _you're_ very nice when you're all soft and pliant like this-"

"Pppft don't you- don't you fucking…"

"My lovely demon." _Teeth_ , teeeeeth against his chin. The monster in Crowley's stomach growled, mewled, growled again. The angelic hand on his shirt gripped the material, tight.

"Sssshhut up." The other hand pushed him into the angel, hard, by his ridiculous jeans.

"Mmm. So nice and kind-"

"- _Angel_ -"

"and _good_."

Look. Look, there are limits to what even the most reasonable demon can put up with. With a roar, an actual roar, Crowley attacked the angel, all teeth and unrighteous fury and 6000 years of- of- of _not_ _this_. There were a lot of teeth, teeth against teeth, teeth against lips, teeth against tongue _nnngh_ and a _lot_ \- a lot of tongue, a lot of rough demonic tongue attacking soft, warm, velvety angel mouth. And _ggnhhhr growling actual fucking growling and wait wait-wait-wait-wait not just him Aziraphale was growling pppffftttfucking growling back into his mouth and there were those lovely throat vibrations again and that fist on his shirt and HIPS oh fuck his hips were moving and there was, there was, there was-._

There was a LOT of angel pressing into him, very. Erh. Very insistently. Very. very nnnghnice. The angel ground up against him, slowly and deliberately.

"Oh fuck me fuck me fuck me _fuck_."

Aziraphale, the absolute bastard, got his fingers into Crowley's hair, settled his hands around his ears, and drew Crowley's head back. And had the wherewithal for a prim little smirk and glinty eyes and a

" _Mmhm, yes_ " – _the_ _cake_ _mmhm_ – and to give an extra little thrust and tilt his head back and _nnnngggah_ to pull Crowley's face towards that lovely, vulnerable, vibrating throat and its softness and warm, dusty smells.

Crowley fangs might be out. Stupid throat would just have to deal with it.

Crowley licked that soft, exposed piece of angel and felt every little nuance of Aziraphale's moan against his lips. He tasted the salt on his skin, nipped against it for good measure. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind; one of his arms had wrapped around Crowley's head, pressing his head against his throat and the dusty, musky smell of him and _yeah_. Yeah, he was definitely fucking _rutting up_ against him now, and wasn't that fucking _divi_ -

"Erh, 'scuse me, gents!"

Two supernatural beings froze up against a colourful wooden gate into Chinatown. Their faces pulled apart from each other a little, though the rest of them didn't quite have the self-discipline required to do so. The tartan bowtie had somehow ended up in Crowley's hand, which was halfway down Aziraphale's half-unbuttoned shirt.

"Oh, _bother_." Crowley could feel the sigh leave his chest. His hand picked up the angel's heartrate in there too, oddly comforting, while Aziraphale turned his head.

"Good evening, officer Gherbil."

A lanky, pale blond human in a Metropolitan Police uniform did a doubletake.

"Mr. Fell!"

Now, Crowley hadn't read up on _Protocol for Principalities_ since a temptation in the 1970s, but he was fairly certain that removing your hand from inside the fashionably tight jeans of your arch enemy when a police human engages you in conversation would feature in there somewhere.

"Mr. Fell, I – erh – must warn yer that yer seem as if yer might be in danger of possibly committing. Ah. Committing public indecency. Sir."

Crowley snorted.

"Ah, yes. Thank you. I really must apologise…" For the first time in their longer-than-average existences, Aziraphale seemed to run out of words.

The police guy, to his credit, seemed to have recovered from his surprise quite well.

"Wouldn't do for a pillar of the community such as yerself to be seen in such a state of disrepair, now would it, Mr. Fell?"

"No. No, quite right. Terribly sorry, officer, terribly sorry."

"The local kids look up to yer, yer know. An' the tourists. Can' be puttin' the tourists off their egg fried rice with yer hands all over this nice guy's dumplin's. As it were. No matter how tasty they might be."

In none of Crowley's many, many imagined scenarios would he have ever wanted to include an interruption. Which went to show how utterly ingenious humans could be. He chuckled, delighted, against Aziraphale's shoulder when the angel finally remembered his hand. He withdrew it from Crowley's arse, equal parts peeved and sheepish, though he let it come to rest on his hip instead. And wasn't that something.

"I am _so_ sorry Gherkins. Utterly indecent, yes. Absolute disgrace."

"Positively diabolical." Crowley lifted his head to soak up a not-entirely-convincing withering look from Aziraphale. "Oi, officer?"

"Yes?"

"Any laws against committing, erh, private indecency?"

"Wouldn't say so, sir, no. Nice night for it an' all, might I add."

"Well, Angel. Listen to the officer, 's a nice night for it."

"Best be on my way. Well gentlemen, I wish you a pleasant evening. Just not in the middle of Chinatown's all." Officer Gherbil set off again with a cheery little wave. He'd return home later to find his council tax paid and the winning ticket for a Lamborghini on his bedside table.

"As good a night as any, right Angel?"

"Hmm yes. I suppose."

"Mmnh, definitely. Police told us to." They met in a softer, sweeter, almost decent kiss.

"I don't think they _told_ us to, Crowley."

"They _did_ , loud as day. The law dictates that we have to go inside and sh-"

"WELL. Let's get on with it then, get to the bookshop, go on, move off."

Crowley let his head fall back against the angel's shoulder.

"Gonna need a minute, Angel." The bastard chuckled, pulled him close – decently above the belt – into an embrace and whispered in his ear – not at all decently.

"Crowley?"

"Mnngh?"

"I can't wait for you to get inside."

"… _Angel._ "

"What?"

"Gonna need another minute."

[1] He wouldn't notice until the next morning, and wouldn't care very much at all then either.

[2] He'd actually imagined it 3583023.5 times, but Crowley didn't keep count.

[3] They really did. It made the front page of several local London newspapers the next morning.

[4] Very, very, very, very, very nice.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a big, serious-ish fic and my brain has no energy for plot outside of it. Or anything else really, apart from mushy Crowley and bastard Aziraphale. Thought I'd better get one of my WIPs actually done. 
> 
> Hope you liked this mush! Crowley did.
> 
> I'm Thyra279 on Tumblr. It's aaaaall Good Omens over there.


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